


holding you up

by hot_damn_louis



Series: oil and water [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Communication, Detective Gerard Argent, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Evil Kate Argent, Feelings Realization, Investigations, Lawyer Derek Hale, M/M, Minor Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Isaac Lahey/Malia Tate, Minor Lydia Martin/Erica Reyes, Minor Peter Hale/Original Character(s), Mystery, Sequel, Slow Burn, Stalking, but like you don't need to read the first to get the gist, feelings talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis
Summary: "What flowers?" Derek asked.“A vase? Of flowers? Left on my doorstep?” Stiles asked, frowning instantly.“I didn’t send you flowers,” Derek said, his own confusion evident over the phone.aka Derek and Stiles are moving on from the entire situation involving Kate Argent. They are growing closer as a couple, excelling in their work, and are attempting to forget the fact that her father is Gerard Argent-- detective and all around scary guy.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: oil and water [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180895
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59
Collections: Rewrite Sterek Discord Drabbles, Sterek Goodness





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I had so many requests for a sequel, that I decided to make a sequel to Oil and Water! I left the ending sort of vague there because it was meant to be more of a lighthearted fic for a drabble prompt, but then I basically set up a scenario that would have likely not been left lighthearted or simple. So now we have this. 
> 
> My current plan is 7 chapters, updated weekly. 
> 
> Thanks in advance for the comments and kudos! The support makes me want to write and produce good writing for y'all. Enjoy!

Stiles parked below his apartment, sort of annoyed that the woman in the apartment next to him parked way too close to the line, making his parking spot even smaller than it was. He could picture her complaining to him tomorrow about the parking situation, saying that he was the one parking too close to her or whatever she felt like saying. He tried not to pay attention when she started to rant, because he often didn’t like what he heard. 

He locked up the Jeep, patting her hood as he walked by. He could feel the slump of his shoulders fighting against him as he trudged up the stairs to his third level apartment, not bothering with the rickety elevator that only Getrude liked to use. She also was nearing 80 and lived on the fifth floor, so he understood why she would opt for the death trap over climbing five flights of stairs. 

He barely noticed the flowers until he was kicking them, his foot connecting with the base of the heavy vase. He blinked down at the flowers, sort of surprised at their presence. Derek was not the kind of guy who would randomly send flowers; if he sent a text to check on Stiles during the day, that was lucky. He was much better in person, or via creepy visits showing up randomly. If it was Derek, sitting on his doorstep, he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“To my dearest,” Stiles read off of the card, frowning at the word “dearest”. That was not a term of endearment that he typically would reserve for him and Derek, but whatever. Sometimes Derek said some stuff that was sort of ridiculous, especially if he was trying to impress Stiles or outwardly show that they were a couple. 

He had been called everything from “babe” to “honeycakes” over the last six months because of Derek’s unnatural talent to have every woman (and a few men) within a fifty foot radius flocking to him. They all assumed that Stiles was his brother or merely a buddy until they took drastic measures. It was sort of no wonder why Derek felt the need to use Kate as a human shield against some of the women at his office. 

People were quicker to think Derek was dating his sister than dating Stiles. 

Stiles unlocked his door, shoving his way outside and kicking it shut behind himself. He put the vase on the counter, tossing away the creepy card. He didn’t need a reminder of Derek’s basic incompetency at boyfriend-hood. He would rather accept the little doodles that Derek did of Stiles, scribbled onto receipts or napkins. He kept those in a shoebox underneath his bed. He was not being creepy, he promised. 

_ Thnx fr the flowers bb _ Stiles texted Derek, setting his phone down on the counter as he moved towards the fridge. He opened it up, glancing into it’s pathetic depths in the hopes that a meal would magically appear. He had a few stray takeout boxes and the rest of the quiche he made the other day. 

Quiche it was. 

As he put the plate in the microwave, his phone started to ring with the tones of “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran, signalling that Derek was calling. He lifted the phone to his ear, watching his quiche rotate in the microwave. “Hey,” Stiles said, leaning back against his counter. 

“What flowers?” Derek asked, cutting to the chase quickly. 

“A vase? Of flowers? Left on my doorstep?” Stiles asked, frowning instantly. 

“I didn’t send you flowers,” Derek said, his own confusion evident over the phone. 

Stiles thought of the weird card included taped to the vase. “I knew you wouldn’t call me ‘dearest’. You’ve called me a lot of things, but not dearest,” Stiles said, popping the microwave, only half listening as he grabbed a fork out. 

“Who are they from then?” Derek asked, sounding concerned. 

Stiles made a noise of unsureness. “Erica? We just closed a case yesterday, so maybe she thought it’d be nice to send some flowers. Or maybe good ole Gertrude, since she seems to have warmed up to me recently. I have no clue,” Stiles said, shrugging even though Derek couldn’t see him. 

“That’s still sort of weird,” Derek said, sounding unsure about the entire situation. 

“I’ll ask around tomorrow,” Stiles said, sitting down on his couch with his food. “I was about to eat and watch something.”

“I’m still stuck at the office,” Derek said with a sigh. He could almost hear the way that Derek rubbed a hand over his face, clearly exhausted but not enough to take a nap in his office or tell his sister he was going home. 

“Big case?” Stiles asked. 

“We picked up the defense for this guy who definitely ran these people over on purpose, but they broke into his house and stole his tv from him? It’s far too messy for my own liking, and this guy is an asshole,” Derek said, his voice tired. “Should I even be telling you this?”

“It’s news to me. I’m a detective, remember? Homicide detective? I’ve got murders to solve, not burglaries and hit and runs,” Stiles said, flicking through his tv channels. He hummed as he looked, finally settling on some Brooklyn 99. Nothing better than bringing his work home with him. “I can bring you some dinner, if you’re going to be stuck there all night,” Stiles suggested. 

“Laura ordered in some takeout so we can work until late. I don’t know how much more we can work on, considering the fact that this guy sucks and we shouldn’t have taken him on to begin with,” Derek murmured, his voice low on the phone. 

Stiles smiled, tilting his head back against his couch. “Busy Friday? Saturday’s my only day off this week so I figured we’d have a day in,” Stiles said, thinking about how much he wanted to get Derek’s hands on him. They hadn’t seen each other in person in almost a week due to their respective caseloads. Why cases started to tick up closer to the holidays, Stiles would never know or understand. 

“We’re getting drinks at our normal place Friday. Care to make an appearance before we spend a night in?” Derek asked. 

Nights at their favorite bar were sort of tainted with the memory of Kate. It had been almost three weeks since Derek had officially stood up for himself and Stiles, and while she had not made an appearance, her association with the bar was not going away anytime soon. He could almost feel her pinching hands or the way she would drape herself over Derek’s shoulders as if she was dating him instead of Stiles. 

The whole situation was sort of a sore spot still for Stiles. There was a lot of emotional turmoil that he still felt over the fact that Derek had let a woman control his life for so long. They had talked it through, more than Stiles really wanted to, and had come to the consensus that it was now in their past. But Derek’s own reasoning for letting her control him was to avoid other women in the office, which is understandable considering his history of assault and unwanted sexual advances. But Stiles couldn’t help but feel a guilty twinge that he let Kate do those things because he sort of liked her. 

That sort of thought was immediately shoved into the back of his brain, no longer to be thought about. He couldn’t think like that, not now or in any relationship. He felt guilty even blaming a lot of Kate’s behaviors on Derek, outside of the fact that he should have been more observant about his own boyfriend and work “friend”. 

“If that’s a bad idea—” Derek started.

“No, let’s do it. I just was thinking about— nevermind you don’t want to know,” Stiles said, shaking his head even though Derek couldn’t see him. 

“You sure? I know you don’t like that place,” Derek said, voice soft. 

Stiles kicked his feet up onto his coffee table, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I know I’m not supposed to be having any more hard feelings regarding Kate, but I can’t help it, alright? It’s sort of fresh in my mind. And her dad scares me,” Stiles said, his quiche abandoned next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his voice sincere. This is what he always said, and while Stiles appreciated the apology, it was not necessary at this point. He understood the guilt that Derek harbored over the situation, and he certainly was not wanting him to feel any more in this moment. 

“Babe, I’m fine. Let’s go out to the bar, stay for one drink, and then we can go back to yours. I like the heated towel rack in your bathroom,” Stiles said, his eyes sliding shut. 

“One day you’re going to leave me for this heated towel rack,” Derek muttered, almost exasperated. 

“Your place is just so much better than mine. I need warm towels in my life. How else am I supposed to feel like my bathroom doubles as a spa?” Stiles said, smiling at the thought. 

“Okay, that’s the plan,” Derek said, his voice soft. “We okay?” he asked, almost too quiet to hear. 

“We’re always okay,” Stiles murmured back. 

“I gotta go over this deposition again before I can leave the office. Talk later?” 

“I’ll text you. Goodnight,” Stiles said. 

“Goodnight.”

Stiles let the phone drop to the couch next to his now cold food. He stared at the quiche, at the way it looked half melted and almost like a pile of rubber. After this particular conversation, the quiche did not look nearly as appetizing as it did before. And it barely looked appetizing before. 

Instead of bothering with the quiche, Stiles dialed the number for the nearest pizza place. He deserved it. 

***

Stiles left his car in the lot, dipping into the station amongst the other busy people at 8am. He wove his way through cops sharing donuts and coffee, and the few detectives rolling in with their eyes half shut from whatever drunken stupor they drank themselves into the night before. In the bullpen he worked his way back to his and Erica’s conjoined desks, their work spilled across it in a messy pile of papers. She wasn’t sitting at her chair yet, and her signature leather jacket was missing, which meant she hadn’t made it in yet. 

Clearing off a small place to put his coffee, Stiles sat heavily at his own desk. He had two new files that had joined their already alarmingly large pile of open cases, and a note on top from the unit chief regarding the closing paperwork for the last few open-shuts they had. She was far less scary than Gerard, the oldest and most renowned detective they had. Morell only looked scary. 

“Hey, tiger,” Erica greeted, a paper bag tucked underneath one arm. She dropped the greasy bag onto her side of the desk, on papers that were likely more important than she was treating them. 

“Sandwiches? From Dave’s?” Stiles asked, snatching up the bag before it permanently stained anything. 

“The one and only,” Erica said, setting her own coffee down. She stripped her leather jacket off, the tight white shirt underneath almost obscene. “Took a detour since I was coming from Lydia’s this morning,” Erica added, winking. 

“Nice,” Stiles said absently, taking one of the sandwiches out of the bag before handing it back to Erica. 

“We finally had a full night to ourselves, and lemme tell you about the stamina—”

“Erica,” Stiles interrupted, holding up his hand to stop her. “I might be bi, but I’m not particularly interested in the details of your sex life. Lydia is sort of my best friend, and I introduced the two of you, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Erica said, waving him off. “Just eat, you ingrate.”

Stiles dug into his sandwich as he looked over the three new cases on his desk. Two would be fairly simple: two were open-shuts with suspects in custody, brought in the night before. All they had to do was go in and close the deal while the lab was turning back physical evidence. The third was passed along from Detective Romero, who was officially going on maternity leave. Something about a body found yesterday, washed up onto shore wearing a sexy nurse Halloween costume. 

“We got a body to check,” Stiles said, flipping through the initial report. The autopsy should be done by today, leaving them not far behind on the case. “Two open-shuts to cover since there were no detectives to pick them up early this morning.”

“Let’s save the body until after I’ve digested,” Erica said, holding up her sandwich as proof. “I’ll go start one of our cases if you start the paperwork?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, shaking his head. She was never going to do paperwork. He knew better than to argue about that. “Wait, quick question. Did you send flowers to my place last night?” 

Erica made a face, standing. “No. Why? Did Derek send you something?” 

“He says he didn’t. They were addressed, ‘To my dearest’. Weird, right?” Stiles said, half shrugging. “They’re probably from Gertrude upstairs.”

“That’s sort of weird,” Erica said, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “I’m gonna go pop some perps. Be back in a bit.”

She sauntered away, eating her greasy sandwich like a girl starved. She smiled and waved at the other detectives and cops as she passed, catching their attention between her bouncing hair, tight pants, and the way she was packing down her food. She was a girl who could eat and flirt at the same time. 

Stiles started in on the paperwork, even as his mind strayed to the flowers again. He would have to walk up and ask Gertrude what was up, considering it was sort of strange to receive flowers at all. He was not the kind of guy who randomly received flowers, and he was far too paranoid to let it go. He had other detectives find themselves with a stalker because of their jobs, and he knew that was something you had to nip in the bud. There was no other way around it, really, besides figuring out if there was a stalker and immediately disuading them. 

He made a face at the way the papers were all out of order. He had a lot more work to do than he thought. 

***

“I’m running late,” Stiles said as he opened his apartment door for Derek. He was shirtless, the shirt he wore to work strewn on the floor in his bedroom. Ever since the first time he went out with Derek and his lawyer crew, Stiles realized that they dressed fancy. Far fancier than Stiles would bother dressing for work, and more like what Stiles would wear to testify on the stands. 

While Derek had mentioned he had no obligation to change, Stiles still felt the pressure to anyway. His most expensive shirt was still less expensive than what most of the lawyers wore on the regular. Derek would dress down, often taking off his suit jacket or swapping his button up for a soft t-shirt, but it still made the scruffy jeans and the plain jackets that Stiles wore feel like garbage in comparison. 

Dating someone who was well off was hard. 

“You don’t have to change,” Derek said, following Stiles into his apartment. “But you also don’t have to put a shirt back on,” Derek added, his eyes raking over Stiles’ torso. 

“As much as I’d like to stay in, we promised Laura that we’d make an appearance,” Stiles said, keeping his back to Derek as he moved through his options in his closet. He could feel rough hands sliding along his bare torso, and he barely blinked at the way Derek pushed up against his back. “We’re already late because you came to pick me up,” Stiles murmured, his hand sliding along a simple black button up, hoping it would be sufficient. 

“Let’s ditch,” Derek murmured, kissing the sensitive spot behind Stiles’ ear. “And it doesn’t matter what shirt you wear.”

“It does matter. Peter offered to take me clothes shopping so I didn’t look so ‘pedestrian’. Whatever that means,” Stiles said, leaning back into Derek. “C’mon, let’s go hang out with your fancy friends and get Taco Bell on the way to yours.”

“Fine, fine,” Derek murmured, nipping at Stiles’ neck before backing off. He crossed his arms, biceps almost bulging out of the soft black t-shirt he was wearing. He still had his grey work slacks on, making him look almost like he walked out of the 90s fashion-wise. 

“You don’t have to change either. Although I’m sort of digging the t-shirt and dress pants look,” Stiles said, shrugging on his black button up. He did up the buttons most of the way and rolled up the sleeves, not bothering to tuck it into his jeans. He didn’t have an appropriate belt to wear with a tucked in button up, and he was not going to have Peter or Malia remind him of such. 

“I remember when Peter would do this all the time,” Derek said, looking down at himself. “Back when he was dating Gabriel when I was a kid.”

“Peter dated guys?” Stiles asked, glancing at his hair in the mirror. “I thought he was with some woman for a while, that’s why he has Malia.”

Derek shrugged, pulling at Stiles’ belt loops, pulling him back into his orbit. “He was with Stephanie when I was a kid, but they divorced when I was five? Six? Right after he had Malia. He dated Gabriel about a year after that, because they would take me into San Francisco for trips through the city, the two of them in Gabriel’s convertible. Must have been when I was eight? The late 90s?” Derek said, frowning in thought. 

“Huh. I wonder why I never noticed,” Stiles said, pushing Derek out of his room. 

“He wears deep v’s,” Derek said, trailing behind Stiles as he picked up his wallet and keys. “How did you not know.”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, walking towards his door. “Maybe my gaydar is broken. I figured he was the kind to date a bunch of smarmy blonde women.”

“I mean he does, that’s how he got Malia. But he’s usually into men,” Derek said, following Stiles out the door. He waited patiently while Stiles locked up, checking the lock to ensure that it was well and truly shut. 

The car ride over had Stiles arguing about the music. Derek only ever listened to the radio presets in his car, and despite Stiles’ insistence on getting an aux cord, Derek still hadn’t bothered. Which led Stiles to finding the best radio station, and despite the fact that it was playing 90s rock, it wasn’t keeping Derek’s attention very well. Derek liked  _ Taylor Swift _ ,  which was sort of the opposite of everything Stiles thought about him. 

“You wear flannel, of course you like grunge,” Derek muttered, trying to park in front of the bar carefully. 

“I’m sorry, but Cake and Beck are definitely not grunge,” Stiles said, huffing in the passenger seat. “I like grunge, and I can tell you the exact differences. And the fact that Mudhoney is way more original and far better than Nirvana.”

“So you can talk about the nuances of 90s rock, but I can’t like Taylor Swift? Or Demi Lovato?” Derek asked, shutting the car off. He gave Stiles a pointed look, as if he knew he won his argument. 

“Are you trying to out argue me? As a lawyer?” Stiles asked, playfully hitting Derek’s shoulder. 

“Maybe I am. Is it working?” Derek asked, grabbing onto Stiles’ flailing arms. He crossed the console, kissing Stiles firmly for a moment before pulling away. “Don’t let my family steamroll you, okay? If you need help, find Jackson.”

“Isn’t it sort of bad that I have to cower behind Jackson when things get rough? I don’t even think he likes me,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“He likes you. He’s bad at expressing emotions, and he hates coming out with Ethan because he’s used to getting flack about it. Treat them like it’s normal and like Ethan isn’t his first real boyfriend,” Derek said, shrugging. 

Stiles could feel the nerves in his chest, settling above his lungs like they did basically every time that he hung out with Derek and his coworkers. It was hard to feel like he belonged in a group that was almost exclusively lawyers. The few people who weren’t lawyers, Stiles didn’t know very well, so it was even harder to attempt conversation. He could already feel the night slipping into something he didn’t want. 

“I can see you worrying,” Derek commented, raising his eyebrows at Stiles. 

“I don’t know if I belong, you know?” Stiles asked, looking down at himself. “I’m stressed about nothing. Don’t worry about me,” Stiles, pulling away so that he could get out of the car. 

“It’s my job to worry about you,” Derek murmured, reaching to grab Stiles’ shoulder before he got fully out of the car. “I care more about you than you think. I’m just bad at showing it.”

Stiles let the heat of his hand seep into his shoulder for a few moments, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath. He could feel his whole body relaxing at the touch, and he let himself relax. He let himself think about how much Derek’s friends and family cared, even when they were being mildly insensitive. Not that he should make excuses for them, but he also found himself not always dreading his time with them. 

“I know. It’s my own nerves most of the time,” Stiles muttered, shaking his head. “I can chase after bad guys and arrest murderers, but I can’t go and talk to your coworkers and family without freaking out. I’m such a bad boyfriend.” Stiles hung his head in his hands, trying to call that calmness down into his heart. 

“I’ll do anything to help,” Derek murmured, his voice low in the car. 

“Nothing you can do,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Let’s do it before I feel any worse,” Stiles said, straightening up, trying to feel the wave of calm that came with being a detective swell over him. He was much better when he was pretending to be someone else. 

“You sure?” Derek asked, watching him carefully. 

“It’s important to you, so it’s important to me,” Stiles said, nodding once before ducking out of the car. He waited for Derek to round the car, slipping his hand into Derek’s the moment that he was close enough. The warmth of Derek’s palm against his, the heat of his perpetually hot arm, was enough to have Stiles calm and ready. 

The bar only ever reminded him of Kate anymore. Of the nastiness. But, he was trying to make new memories by talking with Malia about the stresses of being in charge of people, or playing darts with Isaac, or sitting at a table with Jackson and Ethan and talking about the bigotry of families and a distinct lack of support about sexuality. 

“You okay?” Derek murmurs, breathing into Stiles’ ear as he pressed a second drink into Stiles’ hand. 

“I thought we were doing one drink?” Stiles asked, looking down confused at the vodka soda he was holding. It wasn’t even a drink he particularly liked, all things considering. 

“Laura bought another round. I told her no more after this,” Derek said, ducking to press a kiss to the side of Stiles’ jaw. “We can down them and leave?”

“Nah, I’m okay talking to Jackson and Ethan,” Stiles said, reaching up to cup Derek’s cheek. He smiled and nodded slightly, reassuring him that everything would be fine. He leaned up and kissed Derek quickly, watching him as he walked back towards the pool tables in the back, laughing at something that Laura said. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Jackson asked, tapping his hand in front of Stiles to catch his attention. 

“Nah. I never realized how much he was an extrovert before now,” Stiles said, turning his attention back to Ethan and Jackson. He sipped his drink, wincing at the sharpness of the vodka. He could feel his shoulders loosening because of the alcohol, but his heart was clenching at the sight of Derek laughing while holding a cue stick. He would only sacrifice himself this much for someone he really cared about.

He could still feel the same doubts he had from when Kate was involved resurfacing. He could never really be sure if Derek liked him for him, or that he would be willing to sacrifice himself so wholeheartedly the way that Stiles was willing to. Stiles wanted to give everything to make this work because he felt good with Derek, like himself. He wasn’t sure if Derek felt the same. 

“So it’s a communication thing,” Ethan said, looking between the two of them. “I know a gaze of prophetic longing when I see one. You want to know if he cares as much as you do.”

“He hasn’t gotten there yet,” Jackson hissed, elbowing Ethan in the side. “We’re trying to ease him into communicating properly.”

“You’re right,” Stiles said, staring down at his drink. “I feel like we’ve had to fight an uphill battle to be together since Kate, and I really don’t know where he stands sometimes. He says he cares about me, and he really means it, but he’s bad at showing it. And I know he is. I just feel like I need—”

“Validation?” Ethan asked. 

Stiles looked over at Derek, thinking about the way that a certain L word was dancing around the back of his mind, threatening to spill out when Stiles wasn’t thinking about reigning it back in. “Yeah.”

“No offense, Ethan, but you don’t hear the way that Derek talks around the office. Stiles did this, Stiles did that. Did you know Stiles can cook? Did you know he’s a great bowler? I’m busy, I have plans with Stiles. Can we end early? I have to meet up with Stiles,” Jackson said, pitching his voice a little lower as he mocked Derek’s voice. 

“He says that?” Stiles asked, frowning a little bit. 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I swear he’s the most ridiculous about things. He has some picture of you as his phone background, and every time it lights up with a notification we get to see your smug face.”

This was all new information. And the reason why he liked Jackson. He might be an asshole sometimes, and Ethan wasn’t really any better, but the two of them were as honest as it came. They were the kind of people who would not bullshit you, even if they wanted to. Their honesty and integrity were admirable qualities. If they had met at a different time in a different scenario, he could see how he and Jackson wouldn’t get along. 

“Huh,” Stiles said, sort of at a loss for words. Which was not a frequent occurrence, all things considered. He was sort of a talker. 

“We all worry sometimes. But you’ve caught a good fish,” Ethan said, pressing his lips together. 

“A fishing metaphor? You do realize we’re gay, right?” Jackson said, twisting in his seat to look at Ethan, his face screwing up. 

“Gay men can fish!” Ethan protested, rearing back to put some distance between their upper bodies. 

“Stiles, back me up on this. Fishing is a straight man thing,” Jackson said, waving at Stiles without actually breaking any eye contact with Ethan. 

This was not a conversation or argument that Stiles was well versed in, or even wanted to be a part of. “The only time I went fishing with my dad was before I came out to him?” Stiles offered, as if that was some sort of empirical evidence. 

“Ha!” Jackson said. 

“Shut up,” Ethan shot back, reaching over to pinch at Jackson’s arms. 

“I should let you know that I’m not the expert— oh now you’re kissing. And this is getting weird,” Stiles said, quickly getting up and leaving the table before it got any more uncomfortable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You startled me,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. “My family has a long history of heart disease and heart attacks, you know.”
> 
> “Yeah, you mention it any time I spook you,” Derek said, pressing a plate into his hands. “But also maybe you need to sleep more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for all the love and support so far. I don't usually write established relationship fics, but it seems like I keep doing that? I sort of established this relationship from Derek's POV in the first of this series, but I really wanted to give Stiles a good voice for showing exactly what sort of relationship they have. 
> 
> Yes, I took bowling inspiration from both To All the Boys: Always and Forever, but also from Grease 2. That bowling scene is 10/10.
> 
> I have upped the chapter count because I am putting in two (maybe more) flashback interludes. These will be considerably shorter sections, but give a bit more information on how Stiles and Derek met, and what their relationship was like before they started officially dating. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles flopped onto Derek’s couch, the exhaustion in his bones evident as he slumped into the soft pillows. He kicked his shoes off absently, listening to Derek move around the kitchen. “Has it already been a week since the last time we saw each other?” Stiles mumbled, throwing one arm over his face. 

“We’ve both been busy,” Derek said, his voice small sounding across the apartment. 

Stiles moaned as he wiggled out of his pants, tossing them aside. It was more for comfort than a sexual reason. Although the sex reason was also heavily important to him. If he and Derek only ever got weekends with each other, he was going to make the most of it. Even if he was barely conscious enough to lift his head. 

“You can nap, you know. I’ve had a less busy week than you,” Derek said, his voice soft next to Stiles’ ear. He smoothed a hand over Stiles’ hair, his footsteps trailing away from him. 

“That’s the plan. Wake me when dinner is ready,” Stiles muttered, waving his hand in the air, hoping Derek understood his particular brand of nonverbal communication. 

He let his mind slip away into small, incoherent thoughts. Rather than thinking through the details of the homicide he was currently on (a couple murdered in their own home with their own kitchen knife), he thought about sleepily watching tv on Derek’s flatscreen, cuddling on his soft couch with their legs tangled. 

He let himself think about the fantasy of the two of them living together. It was something that had been swirling in his mind, even though they hadn’t been together that long. Four months wasn’t long enough to really think about living together, but they barely saw each other as it was. They tried to go out every weekend, but between their caseloads, it felt harder and harder to make things work the way they wanted to. Stiles couldn’t blow off paperwork to gallivant across the city like he did when they started dating. He wasn’t going to dig himself into a hole or lose sleep because he was stupid enough to go out on a week night. 

“Food,” Derek said simply, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ ear. 

Stiles flailed as he sat up, inhaling quickly as his eyes flew open. He was not used to being startled, and frequently wasn’t, but Derek always found a way to sneak up on him. He narrowed his eyes at Derek and the way Derek was laughing lightly, frowning at the sight of him. 

“You startled me,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. “My family has a long history of heart disease and heart attacks, you know.”

“Yeah, you mention it any time I spook you,” Derek said, pressing a plate into his hands. “But also maybe you need to sleep more.”

“Not when I have a murder to solve. Or you to talk to,” Stiles said, scooting over on the couch to leave a spot for Derek. He looked down at the healthy chicken and rice meal that Derek had prepared, shrugging at the offer of food. He was still going to inhale it quickly, even if he sort of craved a slice of cake instead. 

Derek rolled his eyes, patting Stiles' leg as he sat down. “As I said, you need to sleep more.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles said, digging into his food. He was in the middle of shoving it unceremoniously into his face when he looked up at Derek. His judgemental look was far too much for Stiles to handle. “Tell me about your week, judge-y McJudgerson,” Stiles said, knocking his knee against Derek’s. 

“Vetting clients. Setting up new cases. Went to lunch with Laura and saw Kate. Nothing too big,” Derek said, his voice even keeled as he spoke. 

Stiles almost choked on his chicken. Which would have been funny in any other scenario. “Saw Kate? You’re going to blast by that part?” He thought of the last time he saw Laura at the bar, her hair wild and her eyes darkening in anger. He was not about to cross her again. If she tried to stake a claim on Derek, he might just move away instead of dealing with her again. 

“Am I supposed to make a big deal out of it?” Derek asked, his voice tense. It sounded as if he was prepared to argue, but stopped himself last second. 

Stiles forgot that he was friends with Kate first. Not that Derek would ever admit it, but based on what Stiles knew, he was friends with her. They typically hung out with each other, and often attended work events as each other’s dates. Even when Derek tried to make the claim that he was merely using her, it still felt as if that was some sort of excuse for her behaviors. Derek clearly cared, and he knew the way that Kate treated Stiles, and he was torn. 

“Look, it’s totally okay. I’m more concerned about what she said, or if she hurt you in any way,” Stiles said, looking down at his plate. “I don’t want her haunting our whole relationship because we let her. I want to talk about it and not bring up the things she said to me every time. She was your friend, and you saw a friend who you no longer talk to. How was it?”

Derek seemed wary at this particular sentiment. Which was totally fine, all things considered. Stiles already knew that this conversation, this entire predicament, was something that they would think fondly on once they were more than a few weeks away. By this time next year they wouldn’t even think about it, or the way that Kate had sort of ruined a few of their early dates. Stiles was on track for forgiving Derek about the whole scenario, and ensuring that he didn’t have ugly feelings when thinking about it or talking about it. 

“It was fine. She came by the table and said hi. She barely could ask what we were up to before Laura scared her off,” Derek said, looking down at his food. 

“I know you want to claim that you weren’t friends with her, but I know you still have feelings about seeing her,” Stiles said, letting his voice trail off. 

“I really don’t. The only strangeness is the fact that she isn’t touching me anymore, and that I don’t gravitate towards her at functions so she could shield me. It just feels weird to see her and not have her act like herself,” Derek said. He put his food down on the coffee table, relaxing back into the couch. “I feel like shit for what she said to you.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, setting his food down next to Derek’s on the table. He touched Derek’s leg, trying to catch his attention more physically. “I’ll be fine. I really will be. It takes time to move past some of those nasty remarks, but you’ve proven that she wasn’t an extension of you, and that she was acting totally independently,” Stiles said, trying to form his thoughts into words in the right way. 

“I still feel guilty that I even had her in my life, and that I used her that way. You don’t deserve what she did to you, and she doesn’t deserve the way I jerked her around,” Derek said, running his hands over his face. He sighed, his body relaxing into the couch. 

“I’m forgiving her for everything,” Stiles said, leaning back into the couch next to Derek. “It’s hard to stop thinking about it, but I’m working past it. I’ll be okay, and I don’t hold any of that pressure on you.”

“Yeah?” Derek mumbled, his voice muffled by his own hands. 

Stiles tilted his head so it rested against Derek’s arm. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t say anything of importance. Only that she ‘misses the office’, whatever that means,” Derek said, letting his hands drop from his face. 

“As long as she didn’t upset you,” Stiles said. He let himself be pulled into Derek’s orbit, falling into the comfortable spot onto Derek’s chest. He loved the feeling of Derek’s arms around his shoulders, wrapping him in and holding him tightly. 

“Nah,” Derek said simply. 

Stiles let himself be held by Derek, knowing that it was Derek’s own preferred method of affection. He would almost always let Derek draw him in, tugging on his belt loops or wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Even if he didn’t particularly like it, he’d let Derek wrap him up because he would let Derek do anything. 

“I miss this,” Stiles mumbled, not even sure if Derek could hear him. 

“Yeah.”

***

Stiles walked into the precinct to find a coffee already on his desk, from the coffee place down the road. It wasn’t his usual order (large vanilla hazelnut latte), but he could understand why Erica would probably not want to shell out that much cash for that little caffeine. It was a simple latte, something he wouldn’t pass up on considering the dregs of coffee at the station. 

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you were getting coffee,” Erica said, dropping her bag heavily on her desk chair. She practically pouted at him, her whole face turning sour. 

“Wait— I thought you bought me this?” Stiles asked, holding the cup out from himself to examine it. He looked for any distinguishing marks, anything to tell if it had been tampered with. Not that he could tell due to the removable lid. 

“Why would I shell out any cash for you?” Erica asked, frowning. “This and the flowers, huh?”

“Sort of weird,” Stiles said, setting the cup down. “I feel like I should call this in. Two things? Anonymously delivered to me? In the same week?” 

Erica took the coffee from his hands, turning it over as if examining it herself. It wasn’t going to reveal any more information, and their own touch likely disturbed any intact fingerprints. “We should call up Scott and Ali, see what they have to say. Maybe your work butt-buddy delivered the coffee.”

“He’s not my ‘butt-buddy’, first off. And second, why wouldn’t he just text me?” Stiles asked, taking the coffee back. He stood, glancing around the precinct for where Scott and Alison’s desks were conjoined. He spotted them across the room, both holding coffees from the same place. “Scotty! You buy me coffee this morning?”

“Yeah! Thank Ali for that!” Scott called back, gesturing lovingly to his partner. 

Stiles then took a hearty sip of his drink, smirking at Erica. 

“Don’t have to act like an asshole,” Erica said, shaking her head. 

“But I am one,” Stiles frowned, pouting exaggeratedly. 

“You are what you eat,” Erica shot back. 

Stiles winced at that one. “Gross.”

“That’s why I call myself the pu—” Erica started. 

Stiles held up a hand to stop her. “I’m going to need you to not say anything else, particularly in reference to the redheaded goddess and my best friend, Lydia.” He sat down heavily in his desk chair, ignoring the laughs from Erica. 

They had paperwork to do and the detective meeting at 10am for assignment of new cases. Considering that they still had closing paperwork and evidence to hand off to the DA’s for their current cases, they needed to get a move on when it came to paperwork. Erica was pretty much useless when it came to actually filing things correctly, which meant that Stiles was likely going to have to prepare everything. And he really didn’t want to. 

“I was going to go make myself coffee, since you had someone deliver it for you,” Erica said, rolling her eyes. She sauntered off, winking at some of their coworkers as she went. 

Instead of calling after her regarding paperwork, he merely sighed and got started. 

***

“Gerard? Dropping a case?” Stiles muttered, sticking close to Erica as they walked out of the briefing room and back down to their desks. “Why would Morell assign us to the case? If he’s suddenly so busy he can’t do it?” 

“He’s the dad of Kate, right?” Erica asked, glancing behind them as if Gerard could hear them. He was back in there, talking to Morell, totally out of sight. He shouldn’t be an issue, despite this particular grain of information.  
“And he’s passing on a mob related string of murders,” Stiles said, holding up the thick folder. “He normally takes care of that. If you know what I mean,” Stiles added. He tried not to think about how corrupt Gerard was, purely for his own sake. He knew that no one crossed Gerard, and the last few people who did either got demoted or transferred to a different police department. He was not someone to be messed with. 

And yet, Stiles and Derek messed with his daughter in their own attempt to preserve their relationship. Shit. 

“You really should have just let that catty bitch keep her claws in Derek,” Erica muttered, dropping down heavily into her chair. She watched Stiles with careful eyes as he dropped into his, the folder slapping against their desk. 

“I know,” Stiles said, propping his elbows up on his desk and putting his face into his hands. He was so damn screwed, and despite the fact that he couldn’t help this particular string of events, he felt as if it was partially his fault. He could have dealt with Kate nicer, or at least put up with her shitty behavior. Maybe he and Derek could have worked something out that didn’t involve disgracing her from his law firm. Or they could have befriended her— 

“Stop overthinking this,” Erica said, snapping in front of his face. “We are going to out detective this entire situation, and keep your pretty ass safe and sound.”

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, wiping his hands over his face once before letting them drop down. “I feel like I’m becoming more and more of a burden.”

“Burden, my ass. You’re totally worth any effort you think people are expending, and you certainly are not an asshole for wanting a good relationship with a guy you like,” Erica said, sipping from her now cold coffee. 

“What if I made a mistake?” Stiles asked, screwing up his face. 

Erica threw a balled up piece of paper at him. “Mistake my ass.”

“Let’s just go over the details of this case,” Stiles said, unsure of what else to say. 

***

“A double date?” Derek asked, his hands sliding up Stiles’ sides from behind. The scruff he had over the last few days of tireless work was rubbing against the back of Stiles’ neck, his hands wandering where they shouldn’t considering how inappropriate it was to be groped up in public. 

“I mentioned this a few days ago,” Stiles muttered, hugging Derek’s arms closer to him, keeping them above his shirt and in the decidedly appropriate areas. He didn’t need Derek smoothing his hands underneath his shirt or along the expanse of his chest because Derek was horny and felt like it. They were going on a date with Stiles’ partner and one of his best friends, and damn they were going to have fun. 

“But bowling,” Derek muttered, sighing. He rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, his body weight slumping slightly onto him. 

“From what I remember, you liked bowling with me last time we went,” Stiles argued, reaching back to pinch Derek’s leg. “And I remembered to get us matching bowling shirts. So ha.”

Derek pulled back, straightening. “Matching bowling shirts?”

“Should I not have?” Stiles asked, twisting to look at him. 

The slow grin that spread across his face was reassuring in all the best ways. He looked happy, if not excited, at the prospect of them wearing matching shirts while bowling. “Where are they? Let’s put them on,” Derek said, patting Stiles’ butt with his hand, urging him to dig into the car for the shirts. 

They weren’t anything special. Simple red bowling shirts with their names embroidered on the left chest. Stiles had gotten them specifically because of the embroidered wolf on the back, which must have been some logo for a past bowling team or something else. 

When he handed Derek the shirt, the light in his eyes was reward enough. 

“This is great,” Derek said, shrugging the shirt over his t-shirt, quickly doing up the buttons. 

“I know. I’m the best boyfriend ever,” Stiles said, pulling his own shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned and open. He reached over and adjusted Derek’s collar, smoothing down the edges. “Plus, now we can claim our own bowling league. Call it the Wolves or something.”

“You’d like that. Rope Scott and Erica into it or something,” Derek said, brushing something off of Stiles’ shoulder. “Or that girl, Scott’s partner. What’s her name again?” 

“Allison. Gerard’s granddaughter. Although that’s probably a bad idea,” Stiles said, making a face. “Mostly because of the whole Kate thing, but partially because of the fact that Gerard is handing me some mob case of his, and I don’t know whether or not I should be flattered or checking over my shoulder to see if I’m going to get murdered—”

Derek cut him off with a kiss, quickly silencing him. He leaned into the warmth of Derek and the softness of his lips, not even noticing the gentle scratch of his beard against his face. 

“Sometimes you should shut up,” Derek murmured, pulling back. 

“But if I keep talking, you always cut me off,” Stiles said with a wink, smirking at the annoyed look on Derek’s face. 

“Lovebirds! I thought we came here to bowl!” Lydia called across the parking lot, her voice loud and almost a bit shrill. Her gorgeous red hair was done in two braids, hanging almost down her back. She had her hand wrapped in Erica’s, the two of them in their own matching bowling shirts. Black, of course, but with a delicate pink embroidery of their names on the left chest. 

“Matching too?” Stiles asked, gesturing towards the shirts. 

Erica rolled her eyes dramatically. “You told me about the shirts a week ago. I wasn’t going to let you one up me in front of Lyds,” Erica said, swinging their hands together, smiling at her girlfriend. 

They made their way inside, Derek and Erica falling quickly into conversation about something car related. Or motorcycle related. Stiles wasn’t actually sure, but the moment he heard ‘exhaust pipe’, he was out of the conversation. He fell into step with Lydia, who was swinging her handbag next to her and watching Erica with loving eyes. 

“Still in the honeymoon stage?” Stiles asked, elbowing Lydia’s side as they waited in line for shoes. 

“We’ve been living together for almost a year, Stiles. I think the honeymoon stage is sort of over,” Lydia said, examining her nails absently. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

“I think we’re too busy for the honeymoon stage,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Plus, we’ve known each other longer than the 5 months we’ve been dating,” Stiles added, as if that was going to make any difference in their relationship at all. 

“Are you going to recount the first time you saw him to me again? Because I’ve heard that story at least twice,” Lydia said, her voice flat. 

“Twice? I’ve told you that twice? I thought I only drunk dialed you a few weeks back about it,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his neck. He really needed to stop drinking and talking about Derek for fear of embarrassing himself too much. He really did not need people close to him knowing how much he pined for Derek in the beginning, or how desperately he wanted to be bent over a desk, in a sexy way. 

“Right after you two started going on dates we had that girls night, remember? We got drunk off of that expensive wine my mom bought me and watched musicals?” Lydia asked, producing a nail file from her purse. 

They stepped forward in line, almost at the counter for shoes. 

“I talked about him that night?” Stiles asked, his voice lowered to a stage whisper, trying not to let the two in front of them in on their conversation. 

“I don’t think you talked about anything else. You even described his dick in great detail,” Lydia said, shrugging and smiling. “Was nice for me, considering the last guy I dated was almost four years ago, but Erica was sort of annoyed later when I told her about it. She really did not appreciate it when I expressed an interest in a three-way,” Lydia added, reaching up to smooth her hair down into her braids. 

Stiles blushed, entirely unsure of what to say. “Three-way— what— Lyds— what?” Stiles stammered, rubbing his hands over his face. He was not going to drink to blacking out again, that was for sure. 

“Shoe size?” Derek asked, turning around and interrupting their conversation. 

“Eleven,” Stiles said quickly, stepping up beside Derek at the counter. He really did not need to have the endless teasing from Lydia, even though that was what she did most of the time anyways. She was nice and sweet and Stiles’ best friend, but he definitely did not miss the teasing he got sometimes. 

The attendant handed him bowling shoes, exchanging them for his own shoes, and waved him off. He and Derek took their shoes down to a lane, setting their stuff down and claiming the whole lane as their own. 

“Girls night?” Derek asked, his voice low and quiet. 

“Shut up! You were listening?” Stiles said, shoving Derek’s chest playfully. He shook his head, smacking Derek on the arm. “I’m already feeling embarrassed and you just decide to eavesdrop?”

“I didn’t hear much!” Derek said, holding his hands up. “Only the girls night thing. And maybe about you being blackout drunk.”

Stiles smacked him again, not caring that Lydia and Erica had dropped their things down. “I’ll just have to tell them about the waiter,” Stiles said, smirking. He had dirt on Derek, and if Derek wanted to eavesdrop and listen to some of Stiles’ embarrassing moments, he was certainly going to do the same for Derek. 

“Stiles,” Derek said once, voice low in warning. 

“Fight fire with fire, right? Or is that what you thought when you caught his sleeve on fire?” Stiles said, raising his eyebrows, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

“You little—” Derek reached out and snagged Stiles by the waist, pulling him in and quickly covering his mouth. “I told you not to mention that,” Derek said into his ear, his chest huffing with laughter. 

Stiles licked the inside of his palm, which had Derek dropping his hand quickly. “I said I wouldn’t tell the people at your  _ firm _ . That does not include one Erica Reyes and one Lydia Martin,” Stiles said, gesturing towards their friends. 

“Did you actually set a waiter on fire?” Erica asked, tilting her head in intrigue. She smiled, reaching over to offer her knuckles for a fist bump. When he reluctantly tapped knuckles with her, she smiled. “I always knew you had a bad boy streak in you, Hale.”

“It was more of an accident,” Derek said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“A hilarious one,” Stiles said, pinching at Derek’s bicep. 

“Are you kids done sizing up to each other, or can I start putting names in for our round?” Lydia asked, pressing the buttons to set up their game. “No, Stiles, I’m not putting you down as Batman,” Lydia said before Stiles could say anything. 

“Hey!” Stiles protested, quickly escaping Derek’s grasp to stand next to Lydia. He never put his real name, mostly for the questions he got. Or his legal name, for that matter. He always put a nickname, and while Batman had been a favorite, he was not against Robin or Magneto. 

“I want to have a sincere game, all things considered,” Lydia said, typing in their names. She tugged on the ends of her shirt, straightening it out. 

“Serious business, bowling is,” Stiles said, nodding solemnly. He knew he was teasing and mocking, but he loved pushing Lydia’s buttons when she was like this. She was so serious at her job, completely in control of everything in her grasp, that Stiles couldn’t help but poke at her when she was taking control of everything else. He didn’t really mind, but if she was going to tease him about his own stupidity, he was going to tease her a little bit too. 

“As if you didn’t propose LARPing at ComicCon last year,” Lydia said, smirking to herself. 

“You were the one who offered to be the Poison Ivy to my Batman,” Stiles shot back. 

Lydia smiled at him, her lips pressed together in a way that made Stiles absolutely sure the next words out of her mouth were going to be slightly condescending. “That was under the context of Erica being Harley Quinn. No offense.”

“Children, can we play or what?” Erica asked, fondling the bowling balls as she picked out her own. She toted over a pink one for Lydia, holding it up in the air for her to see. 

Derek pressed a blue ball into Stiles’ hands, winking at him. 

“Did you seriously just hand me a blue ball?” Stiles asked. 

“Got myself one to match,” Derek said, holding up his own. 

Lydia and Erica both rolled their eyes.


	3. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven Months ago. Two months prior to Derek and Stiles' first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read oil and water, they mention a different meeting than this one. That's because there's more to the story. There will be another flashback, don't worry.
> 
> When writing this story, even in the first part, I sort of skipped past the whole getting-together aspect, and I wanted to include my vision for how these two became a couple for the first place. This is likely one of three interludes that serve as a flashback, only to give some perspective for them as a couple in this universe. 
> 
> Enjoy! Next update will be Wednesday, March 10

If there was one thing that Stiles hated most about being a detective, it was sweating under the gaze of lawyers, judges, and jury in court. He was perfectly fine giving testimony; he knew his facts, he was good at reviewing evidence before the case, and he knew he could be a good storyteller if he put his mind to it. The DA office appreciated his dedication to giving the right impression, and they certainly liked the way that he cleaned up. 

He was sitting outside of the courtroom, waiting to be called in, when a man in an impeccably sharp suit walked up towards the bench he was sitting on, phone pressed to his ear and a stormy look on his face. He gripped his briefcase roughly, his voice low. 

“I told you I needed that file here today. No I absolutely do not care, Laura, I am supposed to be representing this man in  _ court _ today, and considering the fact that it doesn’t look good for him, I would like to have all evidence to try and talk down these charges as best I can. Laura— this preliminary hearing will determine if he’s going to get a life sentence, and I’m not letting him down,” the man said. He turned with his back to Stiles, the long line of his suit flattering. 

Stiles couldn’t help but let himself look. 

“They’ve pulled some cop to make a statement. Yeah. No, I'm sure he’ll beef it up. Yeah. It better be down here in the next ten minutes. Have that Bella girl run it down here. Thanks.” The man hung up the phone roughly, shoving it into his trouser pocket. 

“Rough day?” Stiles asked, sitting there holding his coffee. He couldn’t help but feel as if the case that Derek was talking about was the one Stiles was going into. The ‘cop’ giving testimony is actually Stiles, the arresting detective. 

“No rougher than usual,” the man said sharply. He glanced at Stiles, in his dark blue suit and the tie done up neatly. He must have noted some aspect of Stiles’ seated position, or perhaps the slight bulge of his badge in his pant pocket. “You’re the cop that’s testifying in this courtroom,” the man said flatly. 

Stiles stood, noting that they were almost the same height. He couldn’t help but stare directly into the gorgeous eyes, the eyes of the defense lawyer. “Stiles Stilinski. I’m the arresting detective.” 

The man stared down at the hand that Stiles was offering for a handshake, eyes flicking back up to Stiles’ face as if the mere sight of it offended him. “Derek Hale. Defense attorney.”

“Not what I would expect out of a defense attorney,” Stiles noted as they shook hands. 

“Not what I would expect out of a detective,” the man shot back, eyes narrowing slightly. “Scrawnier than the guys we usually get.”

Stiles tried not to take that particular statement to heart. “I’m pure muscle underneath all of this,” Stiles said, gesturing towards himself. “Now, can I buy you a drink? Or is that fraternizing with the enemy?”

The man, Derek, stared into his eyes for a moment. “No.”

“Then I’ll see you in court,” Stiles said, giving him a half salute. He watched as Derek walked into the courtroom, disappearing between the doors. 

The eyes, the face, the gaze, the suit, the body; all of it would haunt Stiles. Even as he sat to give his testimony, he couldn’t help but let his gaze flicker to Derek, who had slipped a pair of sensible glasses onto his face to read from a piece of paper in front of him. They made him seem older, much less like a pretty-boy lawyer and much more like the sort of defense attorney that an accused murderer would have. 

He couldn’t help but watch the way he moved, his body language calm, even as the judge set the charges. He was the opposite of everyone Stiles ever dated; calm and collected, with no indication of any sort of controlling or manipulative factor. And the mere fact that Stiles thought that at all showed his own dating history, and the fact that he could tell that this man was better than anyone else he had been interested in. 

He wanted to catch up with him after the briefing, but with all things considered, attempting to date a defense attorney was high on the list of Things Not To Do for detectives. The only thing worse than dating a defense attorney was dating someone with a criminal record. Which Stiles was also not proud to say that he had done. 

Instead of going after him, he watched as the man talked to some dark haired woman, her long legs and heels making her his height. She had her hair pulled up away from her face, and even from a distance, he could tell that she was related to him. She smiled and laughed, but none of that had his cool facade broken. 

Stiles liked him. He wanted to break that cool facade wide open and see him smile. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their six month anniversary was coming up next weekend. It was hard to think about the fact that they had been doing this for six months, spending every spare weekend with each other and texting every moment in between that they could. They were not necessarily the gift giving type; Derek sort of had everything that he could ever want, and Stiles was not the kind of guy to try and hand make something or buy whatever gift he thought might work. 
> 
> He barely noticed the envelope shoved under his door as he stumbled inside, bleary from the late hour and from falling asleep on Derek’s couch. He crouched down to grab it, figuring it was too big for his mailbox downstairs and that the landlord probably shoved it under the door to get it out of his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for the comments and support so far.
> 
> I did ~slightly~ edit oil and water to fit with the background of how I saw them meeting (I never thought there would be a sequel to that story, so I sort of threw a background on Stiles and Derek that seemed fitting). The last chapter (the flashback) reflects the first time they met, but not necessarily their meet-cute. You'll see *wink*
> 
> Here's a chapter of both some angst and some fluff. We're getting further into the heart of the story. Lemme know what y'all think!
> 
> EDIT: I started a new job a few weeks ago and lemme tell you, its wrecking havoc on my brain and I'm slipping on details left and right. If you see any inconsistencies, I'm sorry in advance and please point them out. Thanks everyone!

Stiles slumped against his door as he unlocked it, tired and feeling boneless. He never intended to stay at Derek’s so late on Sunday nights, particularly since they both had to be up early in the morning, but he couldn’t help himself. If they could manage to swing the entire weekend to themselves, like they did this past weekend, they barely left Derek’s apartment. He had the best takeout near his place, all of which delivered, and it was so easy to hole up half-naked and spend an entire weekend together. 

Their six month anniversary was coming up next weekend. It was hard to think about the fact that they had been doing this for six months, spending every spare weekend with each other and texting every moment in between that they could. They were not necessarily the gift giving type; Derek sort of had everything that he could ever want, and Stiles was not the kind of guy to try and hand make something or buy whatever gift he thought might work. 

He barely noticed the envelope shoved under his door as he stumbled inside, bleary from the late hour and from falling asleep on Derek’s couch. He crouched down to grab it, figuring it was too big for his mailbox downstairs and that the landlord probably shoved it under the door to get it out of his hair. 

He tossed the envelope on the counter, stripping off his jacket. His mind was on his bed, tucking himself in and sleeping soundly for the next 8 hours, while he still had the opportunity. Whatever dumb package could wait until morning when he could think coherent thoughts. 

Stiles woke up to the stupid alarm blaring on his phone (the song “Manic Monday” for Monday’s, obviously), rubbing his eyes and wishing that he had another hour of laying in his bed, doing absolutely nothing. 

“You have to get up,” Stiles muttered to himself, wincing as he pulled his phone to his face. He clicked through the notifications, noting that it was 7am. He had an hour before he needed to leave. Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

He rolled over feet hitting the floor hard. He literally stumbled into the kitchen— thanks Dolly for now having “9 to 5” stuck in his head instead— searching for coffee to put into his mouth. He started up his coffee maker, knowing that it was going to be way worse than any coffee he could buy, when he remembered the envelope, sitting on the counter. 

Stiles forgot about the envelope entirely. In his tired stupor he threw it onto the counter and went straight to bed without checking what it was. He flipped it over to check for an address, but there was no written address. Only his name, written in creepy psycho sharpie. 

An alarming thought entered his brain: mail wasn’t delivered on Sunday’s. 

Someone delivered this to his door, someone who both knew where he lived and was entirely too creepy to not drop it off when he was by. He thought of Erica first, figuring that maybe he had asked for a file and forgot about it this weekend, but he knew that she would text. Maybe Danny came by, or Scott, but they had his phone number too. They wouldn’t just leave the envelope in his place without letting him know. 

He ran back into his bedroom, grabbing his phone and immediately calling Erica. He tapped his foot as he waited for her to answer, the phone ringing increasing his anxiety. Thoughts flew through his brain about what could be in the envelope, about who could have slipped it into his place and the sort of terror that came with an unmarked envelope. He couldn’t help but think of the anthrax situation from when he was a kid, with the poison in the envelope. 

“What?” Erica snapped, sounding sort of bleary as she answered the phone. 

“Come to my place now. Someone left a mystery envelope under my door last night,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Shit,” Erica said, her voice sounding much farther away from the phone now. “Be there in ten.” She hung up. 

Stiles then quickly called Morell, who told him that she was sending over the appropriate squad to deal with the envelope. She sounded far too calm, as per usual. Her words were not enough to soothe the hammering of Stiles’ heart. Her dulcet tones were always sort of off putting anyways, no matter the situation. 

The phone calls made, Stiles had nothing to do but get ready for the day and not touch the envelope. He already touched it with his own fingerprints, which could have disrupted any evidence on the package itself. He winced as he thought about that, knowing better than to grab things he didn’t know. In his tired state last night he had totally forgotten about mail not coming on Sundays and didn’t notice the lack of address on the envelope. 

He tried to go through the last twenty-four hours without judgement on his particular activities. He had stayed the night Saturday at Derek’s, and they had planned for a day inside because Stiles had forgotten a change of clothes and they didn’t want to bother going out anyways. He left Derek’s at 11pm, arriving at his own apartment a little after 11:30pm. He saw the envelope slipped under the door and picked it up, tossing it on the counter before going to bed. 

Going over it again in his head did not change the fact that he didn’t know who slipped him the envelope, and he didn’t know who would have left it. The flowers and the envelope were a strange coincidence; two things were left at Stiles’ apartment when he was gone, with barely a mention of who they were from. 

He couldn’t claim a pattern yet. His father always said: “One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern.” The fourth (a warrant) did not feel necessarily helpful or productive in this line of thinking. He would have included the coffee into the pattern if he wasn’t completely confident that Scott had bought him that the other day. Anonymous items delivered to his apartment felt like it was more than a mere coincidence. 

The sharp rapping on Stiles’ front door brought him out of his thoughts and down the hallway, opening it to a tense Erica, followed quickly by a tense Danny and the rest of the crime scene squad. Liam merely nodded to Stiles before moving to the envelope, looking it over without touching it. 

“What happened?” Erica asked, crowding Stiles back into his bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder at the men working before she shut the door between them, effectively cutting Stiles off from the rest of the crime scene. Her arms were crossed over her chest, more out of a self soothing and protective urge than any sort of animosity towards him. Stiles could read her well, and her current expression was somewhere between worry and murderous rage towards whoever had delivered the envelope. 

He explained quickly the run of events, but explaining did not feel any better now that he had time to think about it. He should have thought harder about the envelope before he went to bed, but even then that wouldn’t change the circumstance of anything. Acknowledging its weirdness last night might have meant saving the smudges of his own fingertips, but would it really change the fact that whoever had delivered it was long gone? Or that they likely had watched Stiles’ schedule and knew he’d be gone when they delivered it?

He could feel himself conflating the issue quickly. They didn’t even know what was inside the envelope. It could be nice, for all he knew. 

“I can see that thick brain of yours overworking again,” Erica said, reaching forward to flick Stiles’ forehead. She stepped closer to him, commanding his attention fully. “Do not worry about that envelope or what is in it. We need to take the precautions, take your statement, and make sure that no one is in danger, especially you. Got it?”

Stiles nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like I should have known—”

“You couldn’t have,” Erica interrupted. “A mystery envelope like that doesn’t seem as malicious in the dark, and nothing in your life would point towards a stalker or someone attempting to hurt you. Worrying about something we don’t have evidence for is pointless.”

“Right. Fine.” He worried his finger between his lips, biting at his cuticle as he thought. He could feel the weight of his phone in his pocket, buzzing lightly at the incoming text. He pulled it out, seeing a short message from Derek. _Miss you already._

“Do you want to call someone? Derek? I think you should take today off,” Erica said, laying a hand on his forearm. “Even if this turns out to be nothing, I think that it’s best for you to work at home or— something.”

Stiles looked down at his phone. “Yeah. I probably should. Fuck.” He dialed Derek, turning away from Erica to get a modicum of privacy in this moment where it felt as if his privacy had been ripped from him. He barely had to wait two rings before Derek was answering, the phone clicking over. “Derek,” Stiles said, before Derek could even greet him. 

“What's wrong,” Derek said, his voice immediately serious. 

“The police are at my house. More police than usual. Because someone slipped a mystery envelope underneath my door,” Stiles said, pressing the phone to his ear. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt. Only a little shaken by the fact that it might be something bad.”

“I’m going to come get you,” Derek said, sounding rushed on the other end of the phone. 

“Babe, you don’t have to come and get me,” Stiles said, reaching his hand up to run it over his hair. “I’ll be fine. I was going to sit around in my underwear and try and get some paperwork done. I’ll even stay home all day, make sure that I’m not stressing myself out any further,” Stiles added, as if he needed to excuse his behavior. He glanced over at Erica, who was pointedly looking at her phone. 

“I’m coming over,” Derek said decisively, his voice sounding out of breath. “I’m going to text Laura, tell her I can’t come in. I’m sure it’ll be fine without me for a while. You’re more important than work.”

Stiles felt his heart flutter at those words. He knew Derek cared, and they expressed their care through everything from touch to small noises of contentment, but he was not used to Derek telling him he cared outright. It made his stomach flip in a good way. 

“No, no, I'll call you back later.” Stiles said, his voice quieter. 

“ _Be safe_ ,” Derek urged, his voice very intentional. He hung up without a response, leaving Stiles with his phone pressed to his ear. 

He let his arm slowly drop, tucking the phone into his back pocket. He wanted to figure everything out, figure out who left the envelope and what was inside, but speaking with Derek had Stiles deflating slightly. Somehow, in his words, it felt as if having him there as a buffer was a far better idea than attempting to brave it on his own. He could forget that he had a partner and boyfriend sometimes, someone who he was allowed to rely on. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt that way about anyone. 

“He coming or what?” Erica asked, tapping something out on her phone. “Morell’s waiting for a response on what’s in the envelope before deciding what sort of detail to provide for your place.”

“Detail?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms. He gripped his own shirt, more of a self hug rather than a defensive stance. He appreciated the support, but it was starting to feel ridiculous. Freaking out over a single envelope was low on Stiles’ lists, and while he was wary of the fact that someone knew his address, he couldn’t imagine having a car or an agent detailed to him semi-permanently. 

“She’s worried about a stalker. Potentially someone who might want to hurt you. She knows about the flowers. I told her about them,” Erica said, her eyes not looking up from her phone. 

Fuck, the flowers. He told Erica but he never properly filed anything about them. They were strange, but the language was so reminiscent of an older person that Stiles assumed they were from Gertrude. No one used “dearest” in everyday language. At least, not anymore. 

Liam pushed into the bedroom. “You’re going to want to see the contents,” he said ominously, his baby face not giving a single bit of information. 

They followed him back out into the kitchen, the two of them crowding around the counter with Liam and one of the tech guys. They had the items spread out over the counter surfaces, the items seemingly categorized. There were a few cut out clippings of newspapers, three photographs printed from online, and two candid photos. 

Stiles looked at the candid photos first, the angle and composition catching his eye. One was Stiles alone, standing at his window and looking out vaguely, a coffee in his hand. The other was of Stiles and Derek kissing, this one at night, the two of them clung to each other like they were desperate for it. 

The printed photos from online were of Stiles in various stages as a cop. One was his headshot from graduation day, another was him shaking the hand of Morell the day he got hired, and the third the photo they ran online of Stiles high fiving some little girl. That photo was published on the police department’s official website, as a part of their campaign to show how inclusive and nice they were. The three photos, all of them almost staged, seemed more like impersonal relics compared to the two candids. 

The newspaper clippings were somehow the most alarming. They seemed to be chronicling everything Beacon Hills Bugel had published regarding Stiles in the past five years. The small note when his father was shot; how he stepped in as acting sheriff while his father was in the hospital; the kid he had saved from the river that winter; when he helped his father back into his office the first time; the ten year anniversary of the hit and run that killed his mom; and even the small paragraph about him making detective in San Francisco. All of it was there. His life in small bits, at least the last few years, laid out for someone to see. 

“Fuck,” Stiles said, his finger reaching out but not quite touching the papers. 

“Morell has to know about this,” Erica said, taking a picture of it and quickly typing into her phone, presumably to send her the photo of the psychotic evidence of a stalker, someone who was watching him for some period of time. 

For a hot second, Kate flashed to mind. He ruled her out faster than he could count her in, if only for the short period of time he had been acquainted with her. She barely knew anything about him, and she certainly would not have the time or knowledge to collect newspaper clippings from before he moved to San Francisco full time. This had the markings of a full blown stalker, one who had been watching Stiles from afar, and sometimes close, for a year if not longer. 

No one would know to look in the Bugel if they hadn’t known Stiles, or at least found out his hometown. But he barely mentioned it to anyone, and he made sure that his history was tucked away neatly online. This was the sort of detail that would require digging. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, as if that changed the fact that Stiles now had an official stalker. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles said, his shoulders slumping. He felt sort of hollow, wordless, as he stared down at the things inside the envelope. He hated the sight of his life, bared out like that, reduced down to pictures and newspaper clippings. They didn’t capture the way that Stiles was as a person, or the way he joked and laughed and felt comfortable in his own skin. 

“Stiles,” Erica snapped, catching his attention. “Pack a bag. You’re not staying here tonight.”

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes, to protest and joke in his normal way, but he barely had the heart. He could feel her thousand yard stare grow more intense when he didn’t say anything or pick a fight back. He could see the worry take up space behind her eyes, space that should be occupied by thoughts of the case and how to find any of the murderers from the cases in their charge. 

“Stiles—”

“I’m staying at Derek’s then. It’s got security cameras all over and a doorman. Plus you need a keycard to even access the elevators. I’m sure it’s the safest building I could be in besides the precinct,” Stiles said, cutting her off. He didn’t need whatever sort of emotional speech she had formulating in her brain. He’d rather save the emotions for when it didn’t feel as if a rug was pulled out from underneath him. He’d like to save emotions for when he’s willing to feel them properly again. She should talk to him in two days, see how he reacts then. 

A stalker. Someone who was sending him photos of himself, showing that they knew everything about his life. This was the sort of thing you saw on TV; some episode of Criminal Minds where a member was being stalked, or having a crazy ex pop up as a reminder to vet whoever you’re dating to ensure safety. But to have it happen in real life? It felt wrong. Bad. Beyond the scope of Stiles’ current job, or his importance in general. 

“I think we should talk about this,” Erica said fiercely, grabbing his arm. 

“I don’t.” 

She looked as if she was going to attempt to convince him, say something to have him change his mind, but she retreated with only the shake of her head. He could hear the sort of protective speech she would give, ensuring that she’d do anything to ensure his safety. He already knew that, and his personal life was completely violated, so he really did not need someone telling him how much they knew him and about his own safety. He clearly was not safe. 

He hastily packed a few changes of clothes into a duffel bag from the top of his closet, ignoring the hum of the officers and lab techs analyzing every part of his kitchen in the other room. He knew he had to make a statement, go through a round of questioning, if only to figure out exactly who could potentially be responsible. He hadn’t worked many stalking cases as a homicide detective, but he had assisted on a few as a cop. 

There was a soft knock on the doorway. “Hey, I have to come take your statement,” Liam said. He looked warily into Stiles’ bedroom, seeing the bag on the bed and the tired slump of his shoulders. 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, sitting heavily onto his bed, next to the bag. 

Liam grabbed a recording device out of his pocket, holding it out from him as he asked questions. 

They went through a few of the usual questions that were crucial to any investigation. Have you noticed anything weird lately? Do you know anyone who’s been acting suspicious towards you? What were the events of last night leading up to the envelope? Has this happened before? 

Stiles was perfectly fine when he was the one questioning people. He was sort of used to the careful tiptoe of words as he tried to parse out who had done what, and who had seen what. His line of work required a keen eye for liars and for any sort of suspicious wording and behavior. Being on the other end of a questioning was a whole other story; he hated being under the spotlight. 

“I’m going to drive you somewhere else, because we want to lock this up until we are sure your apartment is safe,” Liam said, glancing at Stiles’ bag on his bed. “You have anywhere to go?”

“I’m going to call my boyfriend,” Stiles said, half shrugging. He watched as Liam left the room, leaving him alone to make the phone call. He dialed Derek’s number and listened to the phone ringing, his shoulders slumping forward. He knew he was worried, probably sitting by his phone. He should have called him back sooner.

"What happened?" Derek answered, his voice rushed on the phone.

“Der,” Stiles said, his stress clearly evident in his voice. “Someone— they left photos of me in my apartment. Creepy ones,” Stiles said, closing his eyes. He pressed a fist against his face, unsure of how to explain this, particularly if Derek was busy and couldn’t be helping him. 

“Wait, what?” Derek asked. 

“Someone dropped an envelope off last night, and I didn’t look at it until this morning. It had photos of me, of us, and newspaper clippings of me and my dad,” Stiles said, his voice sounding small, even in his own ears. He wanted to sigh, or scream, or cry. But he felt so empty and alone. 

There was a distinct sound of a door shutting on Derek’s end of the line. “Are you at home? I’ll come pick you up,” Derek offered immediately. He sounded concerned, but not pushy. He knew not to be pushy or ask too many questions. 

“I have to take my car anyway, so as long as there’s a spot for me in the garage of your building,” Stiles said, rubbing his hand over his face. Two cars at an apartment didn’t particularly work, definitely not in the city. 

Derek hummed for a second, in thought. “Take my spot. I’ll leave my car in the office parking for now. Catch a bus home or something,” he said, as if this was clearly the easiest and most obvious decision. 

“You sure?” Stiles asked, voice small. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anything for you to feel safe and comfortable,” Derek said, trying to keep his tone light and supportive. “Can I come home and see you? Take a half day so we can hang out and destress?” 

Even though Stiles sort of wanted to completely ignore that this happened and take a one-way trip back to normalcy, he also wanted to cuddle on the couch with his boyfriend and eat shitty food and not think about the fact that he had a stalker who knew where he lived. Anything to not have to think about that. 

“Can you get takeout from that Chinese place? On your way back?” Stiles asked. He wanted to lay back on Derek’s bed, legs tangled together and bodies pressed tight, laughing about whatever dumb video Stiles found on his phone, or sharing work stories. Something lighthearted and fun. 

“Consider it done,” Derek said firmly. 

“I’ll be there in 30,” Stiles said.

“See you.”

Stiles hung up the phone, feeling more secure than before. He knew that a short call to Derek, his support and strength, would have him instantly feeling better. He really needed the emotional support without the smothering, and while Erica brandishing a gun at everyone was a fun thought, she was not the kind of person that he wanted. He wanted his boyfriend.

***

Derek’s apartment had at minimum three layers of security. All residents had a keycard to get into the lobby (where there were armed security), they needed a keycard to get into the elevator, needed both their keycard and their physical key to get into the apartment, and an alarm would sound if the keycard was not scanned inside the apartment for security. 

Early in their relationship, the first time they had made it back to Derek’s, they had been so heated in the moment that he had forgotten to tap the keycard once he was inside. Having the security rush in because they thought something was wrong was almost comical, at least for the fact that Derek was almost naked and Stiles well on his way to being. 

When he arrived he waited for Derek at the garage entrance, having already gained a permanent guest pass from the last few times that Stiles had stayed. He still needed Derek to scan him into the building and take him upstairs. Waiting in his car, his beat up Jeep, felt both secure and entirely unsafe. His car wouldn’t protect him, not in the slightest, and yet he was sitting in it as if the added layer was not an easy layer to bypass. 

His phone rang, the buzzing bringing his attention back to the garage. He answered, his eyes closed as he tilted his head back against his seat. “Hey, babe.”

“Are you in the garage?” Derek asked, voice soft. 

“Yeah.”

“I’m opening the interior door. Raph at the front desk is making you a key right now,” Derek said, his voice a little breathy. 

Stiles looked up to see Derek propping open the door, hanging up the phone. When Stiles didn’t get out of his car right away, he waved at him, gesturing for him to come inside. 

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Stiles tried not to think about the fact that he was taking solace at his boyfriend’s apartment. That they were going to be practically living together until they had sorted out the whole stalker-scenario. They hadn’t even discussed living together, not yet. They were both so busy, so in their own lives, that their own 6 month anniversary snuck up on them. Next weekend. Shit. Stiles was going to give him a pair of cufflinks, silver with an inlet of onyx. 

Derek watched him with careful eyes, his eyebrows lilting upwards as if asking _what are you thinking about?_ He had a keen ability to be able to read through Stiles, as if all of his emotions were blatantly and painfully obvious. He was so good at being patient, about waiting, which always made Stiles feel slightly guilty about withholding his emotions. He was usually so talkative, so open, that it was hard— 

“Can I take your bag?” Derek asked, gesturing towards the duffel as they walked towards the bank of elevators. When Stiles didn’t say anything, he let his hand hover at the small of his back, not quite touching, but trying to provide a reassuring sense of security. 

It was only once they were in the elevator, rocketing up to the tenth floor, that Stiles was sagging against Derek. He leaned into his side, tipping his head against Derek’s shoulder. He liked the way that Derek’s arm tightened around him, almost painfully so, clutching at him as if he was going to be ripped away at any moment. Stiles sighed softly, finally taking a deep breath now that he was with Derek, feeling at ease again. 

“I’m okay,” Stiles said, as if that was needed to be said. When the words slipped out of his mouth, he realized how absolutely true that was. “I’m shaken, a little scared, and feeling like my privacy and safety has been violated. But I think I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Derek murmured, tipping his head to kiss the top of Stiles’ head. “Anything I can do?” Derek murmured. 

“Don’t treat me with kid gloves, okay? People did that when my mom died, and when my dad was in the hospital. I really do not want people acting as if I’m sensitive and need coddling. Don’t coddle me,” Stiles said, sliding one hand around Derek’s torso, letting himself fall into the warm embrace of a hug. 

“Of course,” Derek agreed quickly. “Then you won’t mind that I want to get sandwiches from Lee’s for lunch.”

“Only if we can get roast beef,” Stiles said, turning to smile into Derek’s shoulder.

The elevator dinged, letting them out at Derek’s floor. He was directly underneath the penthouse, with only three places on the entire floor. There was Derek’s, his neighbor Patricia’s, and a very insular couple who Derek doesn’t even know. It left them with privacy as they walked down the hallway to Derek’s door, Derek unlocking it and letting them slip inside. 

While Derek set the alarm, Stiles walked into the bedroom, dropping his bag down. He stared at the soft bed, the white sheets mussed from this morning from where Derek didn’t make the bed back up before leaving for work. He thought about what it would be like to wake up in that bed every morning for the next few days, curling against Derek’s warmth and having their own mini vacation never end. 

“I’m going to order us some lunch,” Derek murmured, ducking into the bedroom to press a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. He ducked back out, the sound of him talking on the phone to order barely heard from the other room. The domesticity of it all, of being in Derek’s place on a Monday, it felt totally different. 

They hadn’t really breached contact at each other’s homes outside of weekends. They usually met up for food or drinks during the week, both of them waking early for their respective jobs. They didn’t have time for sleepovers in the middle of the week, not when Derek or Stiles had a huge case to close. 

Stiles wandered back out into the expansive living room and kitchen, the rooms blending into each other in the open concept space. The huge tv Derek had on the wall was turned on to some game on ESPN, but was muted. The soft midday light was barely streaming through the windows, leaving only a small spot of sun on the floor. There were still their cups and plates from the weekend piled in Derek’s sink, dirty and unwashed. He felt sort of guilty for not cleaning up after himself, for becoming such an imposition. 

“Laura’s bringing over some casework in a bit so I can work from home, but otherwise I’m going to stick around here for today,” Derek said, stripping his suit jacket off. He laid it over one of the barstools, reaching up to loosen his tie. He glanced at Stiles, eyes appraising him for a moment. “Do you need anything right now?”

“No,” Stiles said, shrugging. He could feel his brain struggling to work through everything that had happened today, to process each individual facet of his experience thus far. “Why are you staying here? You can go back to the office.”

Derek shrugged. “I’m due for a day of work at home. Thought I could take a day off from a suit and tie,” Derek said, sliding the tie along his collar, letting it slip from around his neck. He grabbed his jacket and tie, walking back towards the bedroom. After a few moments, he returned in a soft t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Stiles admitted, still standing in the middle of the room. He glanced at Derek, and there must have been a bit of fear in his eyes, because Derek quickly walked over. “I feel so _violated_ , and yet I have absolutely no feelings about being _stalked_. How the hell do you feel about being stalked except for being scared?”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles silently, pulling him in for a hug. The contact, the warmth and comfort that Derek held in his arms, was enough to have Stiles sag into him, relishing in the contact of the person he cared about more than anyone. He could feel the words slipping in the back of his throat, the thought of something more than just care and affection clawing to come out of his chest. He let himself be caged in by Derek, to be held by him as if that was going to fix anything. 

“Whatever you feel is valid,” Derek said simply. 

“Even if I feel nothing, totally empty?”

“Even if you feel nothing,” Derek repeated, his fingers tracing down Stiles’ back. The sensation was delightful, his fingers soothing Stiles and letting him relax. He wanted to cuddle him on the couch, let their bodies press from chest to toe and let himself relax for the first time since this morning. 

“I want to feel safe. All I feel is betrayed, and the thought of someone watching me makes my skin crawl,” Stiles said, almost shuddering in Derek’s grasp. 

“You’re safe here,” Derek reassured, humming lightly. The soft rumbling soothed Stiles, letting him sway a little bit to whatever song Derek was humming. He could really, truly, feel safe in Derek’s arms in his apartment. He could feel his guards lowering. 

“I’m safe here,” Stiles repeated back, smiling to himself at the thought.  
***

Without the whole stalker thing, their night off felt refreshing. Stiles made them dinner (noodles with pesto and garlic bread), and they sat in front of the tv and watched a movie. They had a chance to talk all afternoon, about everything but the reason why Stiles was cohabitating Derek’s apartment. It felt like what it could feel like in the future, if Stiles had moved in. Not that he was thinking super hard about that in particular. 

Actually, he was. But he was not going to admit that to Derek, not when they had this situation to process first. 

In the morning, Derek got up with his alarm, quietly apologizing for leaving it on loud. He tiptoed through the dark room, pulling out a suit from his closet and heading into the bathroom to get ready. His motions were quiet, and while Stiles was half asleep, he still blearily watched the crack of light that came from underneath the bathroom door. 

“Der?” Stiles asked, voice soft as Derek came out of the bathroom. 

“Shh,” Derek murmured, leaning over to kiss Stiles’ forehead. “I’m going to work. I’ll be home by five. Feel free to order food or groceries and just hang out today.” He ran a hand down Stiles’s side, slipping out of the room and shutting the door behind him. 

When Stiles actually got up, at 10am, he rolled over and was grateful for Derek’s huge bed and blackout curtains. It had been a while since he had a good night’s sleep, one that wasn’t interrupted by a case or by Derek. He forgot that he could sleep 10 hours uninterrupted. Even if his body was still tired and shaking off sleep, he could feel his mind gearing up and racing. 

One thought dominated his mind: he had never been in Derek’s apartment alone. Not even when Derek ordered food, because he usually had it delivered. The man had his _groceries_ delivered most of the time, because of his busy schedule. When they were alone on the weekends, and didn’t have a case to deal with, they would hole up in each other’s presence for as long as they could. Being alone at each other’s places was not something they did. 

Creeping out into the living room, Stiles felt as if he couldn’t make any noise. Not that there was anyone to care, but there was something weird about being alone in such a big space. Stiles’ tiny apartment was good for it’s coziness and the comfort of the space. Derek’s open concept living room left Stiles’ voice a little bit echo-y, especially by himself with no one else to take up space. 

He sort of wanted to hang up thick curtains, or get another heavy couch to help make the space sound less large. He knew that there was a level of aesthetic in the apartment design, but he truly was not feeling it at all. He couldn’t help but think of how his entire life was lived in the exact opposite sort of environments. He lived in small houses where there was evidence of generations of people who had lived there. Nicks in the baseboards, scratches on the floor, paint uneven and sort of messy from where they had painted the room themselves. His mom always filled his house with the warm smell of baking, making it feel like home.

That was it. He was going to bake for Derek. Make the empty apartment feel more full. 

The only problem with this particular scenario was the fact that the cabinets were completely and entirely bare of baking ingredients. There was a bit of pancake mix and some baking soda, but nothing substantial to make anything with. 

He ordered groceries, all the necessary ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. They were the one thing he was confident he could make without messing them up, and he wanted to distract himself both from the empty house and the reason why he was there to begin with. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he was sitting alone in Derek’s apartment with someone else watching him— 

The groceries came in time. 

The methodical process of measuring things (with Derek’s new measuring cups, courtesy of Stiles), and ensuring that things were mixed properly was something Stiles forgot that he liked. It had been so long since he had baked anything, not since he was staying at his dad’s and baking for the entire police department in Beacon Hills. He couldn’t help but think of delivering cookies to Janet and Dave at the station, their faces lighting up at the sight. He wanted to feel that feeling again, of people appreciating him. So little of his life brought that energy. 

He barely noticed his phone ringing until it was almost ringing over to voicemail. He hastily picked it up with dirty hands, cradling it between his shoulder and his ear as he moved to scoop dough onto trays. 

“Hello,” he answered, sort of breathless and quiet. 

“Checking in on you,” Erica said, her voice almost drowned out by what was likely the bullpen in the station. “Morell says to stay home for the rest of the week while we sort it out. We’ve got some beat cops staking out your place, and the lab is processing the photos the best they can.”

Stiles stilled, his mind coming back to the problem at hand. Making cookies was supposed to distract him from this. 

“I know you’re okay, and at Derek’s, but I wanted to check in on my partner,” Erica added. 

“I’m trying to make some cookies right now. Distract myself,” Stiles said honestly. He continued to scoop dough onto the tray, sort of unsure of what else to say. What was there to say, except for the fact that he was being stalked without his knowledge?

“Good. Lydia and I can come over later, if you want. Bring over some dinner?” Erica asked, sounding sort of hopeful. 

“Is this your way of checking up on me?” Stiles asked, smiling a little bit. He forgot how much of a mama-bear worrier type that Erica could be, when she was allowed to. She covered everything up with the facade of her tough exterior, but he had been partners with her long enough to know that she was a softie at heart. She cried when they watched _A Star is Born_ together. 

“Is that a yes or what?” Erica snapped, clearly annoyed that he called her on it. 

“Sure. Around 7 okay?” Stiles said, thinking of when Derek would likely get home. He always said he got off at 5, but he was frequently there until at least six. When they’ve tried to meet up after work, both of them pushed back their meet up times until at least 7pm because of their schedules. 

“I’ll bring Chinese from Secret Garden,” Erica said decisively. 

“Don’t forget the orange chicken and the—”

“Mapo tofu. I remember your totally weird taste. I don’t understand why you like the texture of that, but I get it for you every time,” Erica said. If she was standing there next to Stiles, she would be shaking her head and smiling. It was the familiarity of the action, the slip back into their normal speaking patterns, that had Stiles relaxing. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, completely sincerely. 

“You only get one free dinner because of a stalker, you know,” Erica joked. “Next time, you owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

She hung up without saying goodbye, which was such typical Erica fashion. She never said goodbye on a call, and she never said goodbye in person. It wasn’t her type of thing. She was loud, aggressive, and a damn fine detective; it was moments like this that reminded Stiles why he liked her and was glad to have her as his partner to begin with. 

To fill the silence, Stiles put on the tv and turned it to some channel with home improvement tv shows. He watched the show idly as the cookies baked, the warm smell of cookies filling the apartment. It felt so much more like home. 

***

Stiles was napping on the couch when he heard the front door open, the signature soft opening of Derek’s fancy doors, and the beep of Derek setting the alarm again. He shot up from where he was on the couch, hair mussed and some house renovation show practically blasting on the tv. He scrambled for the remote, falling off the couch in his haste to turn the tv off. He wasn’t ashamed of watching such garbage, but he was ashamed at the sheer volume he put it at in order to feel like it was both loud enough and filling the large space of Derek’s apartment. 

“Interesting day?” Derek asked, immediately stripping out of his suit jacket and dropping his bag on the ground. He walked over towards where Stiles was still laying on the ground between the couch and the coffee table, his limbs askew. 

“I made cookies?” Stiles said, as if this was somehow an excuse for having an entirely unproductive day. 

Derek laid his suit jacket down over the back of the couch, raising one eyebrow at Stiles. “Chocolate chip?”

“The one and only,” Stiles said, clambering to his feet. He felt clumsy and tired from his nap, his brain still attempting to wake itself up. He leaned across the couch, tipping up to kiss Derek firmly in greeting. “Hi,” he murmured quietly. 

“Hi,” Derek murmured back, pulling Stiles back in for another deeper kiss. They kissed for a moment over the back of the couch, Stiles leaning into the warmth and familiarity. He could imagine himself greeting Derek with a kiss like this when he got home from work, acting like a 50s housewife and cooking all day. Not that he actually wanted that, but it felt like a sitcom lifestyle he could imagine for himself. 

“Erica and Lydia are bringing dinner,” Stiles mumbled, reaching up to card his hand through Derek’s hair, feeling the product in it loosen under his touch. 

Derek made an unreadable noise, pulling back from Stiles. “Dinner?”

“They offered to buy,” Stiles said, as if that was somehow the most obvious choice. “Chinese food from that place you like.”

“Orange chicken?” Derek asked, running a hand down the length of Stiles’ side. He paused at the low swell of his hip, his hand drifting back towards Stiles’ ass. His fingers tugged at the waistband of Stiles’ sweats, as if teasing at the thought. 

“If I knew you were going to be this horny when you got home, I would have postponed—”

Derek broke away with a groan, rolling his eyes. He crossed the room to wash his hands, pushing his sleeves up over his forearms. “Don’t say that ever.”

“What? Horny?” Stiles asked, laughing lightly. “Lemme ask you a question, and be honest—” Stiles started, laying on a thick British accent. “Do I make you horny, baby? Do I make you randy? Yeah, baby, yeah!” 

The bad Austin Powers impersonation was enough to have Derek cracking a smile, letting out a huff of a laugh. Instead of saying anything, he unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off as he walked back towards Stiles. The hardness of his chest was evident through his white undershirt. 

Stiles wanted so badly to tear that shirt off of him. 

Derek stopped short, his mouth a breath away from Stiles’. He sighed, as if to think about something, and pulled away before Stiles could seal their mouths together. “You’ll have to wait for any of this.”

“Not even a quickie?”

“More like extended foreplay,” Derek said, glancing back at Stiles before slipping into their bedroom. 

It only took Stiles a few seconds before he was stumbling into the bedroom behind Derek, kicking the door shut behind him. He was not the kind of guy to pass up an opportunity, especially not with a boyfriend he was starting to love.


End file.
